


Bruno’s Moving Castle

by jaredlearnedtoread



Category: Howl no Ugoku Shiro | Howl's Moving Castle, ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Family Dynamics, Howls Moving Castle AU, M/M, Minor Character Death, No Beta, Other, Slow Burn, Sort Of, be warned, bruno/Abbacchio are the main pairing, i think, lots of cussing, others are mostly background
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:21:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24842965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaredlearnedtoread/pseuds/jaredlearnedtoread
Summary: It’s just Howl’s moving castle but with Jojo. This may have been done before, I apologize if so.
Relationships: Leone Abbacchio/Bruno Buccellati, Narancia Ghirga/Guido Mista, Others to be added, Pannacotta Fugo/Giorno Giovanna, Squalo/Tiziano (JoJo)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 52





	1. Abbacchio gets fucked (not literally)

**Author's Note:**

> Abbacchio and Giorno are roommates. They’re not related by blood but act like siblings.

Abbacchio pulled on the bead, threading it into the hat easily. He finished it off with a feather, hanging it up next to the others displayed vibrantly on hooks. 

The sky was a dull gray-blue, and the air was threatening to turn icy as he made his way through the alley shortcut, hurrying to get to the warm bakery before it got dark. He couldn’t stop himself from looking back, and the feeling of being watched prickled under his skin no matter how many times he saw the empty alleyway behind him. 

The smell of fresh bread and pastries was a relief, and Abbacchio let himself relax in the warm glow of the bakery for a moment before storming over to intimidate the young baker.  
“Good Morning-”  
“Piece of shit!” Abbacchio yelled, pointing accusingly at Giorno. The teen ignored that, finishing his greeting and continuing to clean up.  
“How are you?”  
Abbacchio didn’t answer, opting to steal a croissant and throw himself dramatically into a chair instead. 

“The bakery is doing well, I almost sold out of cookies before noon.”  
“You get up too early for this shit.”  
Giorno smirked at the hint of concern in the other’s voice, set on teasing him. “I love baking, it’s my passion. I have a dream, Abbacchio.  
“Brat. Take the long way home, the shortcut is too dark.”

Thirty minutes later, Abbacchio wished that he had taken his own advice. The feeling of being watched was stronger now, and he walked a little faster. Something grimy slithered behind him, though he couldn’t pinpoint which side it was coming from. Stiffly refusing to turn his head, he kept moving. 

A hand shot out and gripped Abbacchio’s wrist, making him jump. “Heyyy, babyy.” A tall man pressed up against his back, leaning forward until Abbacchio could smell the alcohol on his breath. It wasn’t uncommon for someone to mistake him for a woman, but it usually didn’t happen in these circumstances. Pushing the disgusting man off of him, Abbacchio brought out his pocket knife, ready to fight. 

“Awwww don’t-”  
The man was cut off by his own screams as he was devoured. The slime creature he was certain had been following him before tore the man open, easily ignoring his escape attempts. Abbacchio turned away from the scene and ran until the squelching sounds of digestion were in the distance. Sweat rolled down his back as he panted, halting his breathing when he heard something behind him. 

The click of heels on the stone path sounded closer than the oozing slug-like monster at the moment, though he could still hear it in the distance. An arm was thrown around his shoulder, forcing him to stumble forward when the figure did not stop walking. “I apologize, they’re after me. Don’t look back. Ignore them.” Abbacchio struggled to keep up with the fast pace, too confused to argue. 

They turned a corner to avoid a black mass of eyes and goop, but were soon surrounded when the monster followed after them and another rolled in front. The man moved his hand to sit firmly against Abbacchio’s waist, and turned to face him.  
“You have to trust me.” He nodded at his own comment and walked swiftly into the air as if on a staircase only he could see. 

“Fuck! What the fuck!” Abbacchio yelled, staring at the ground as it got smaller. “Please stop struggling, you’ll fall.” Abbacchio’s movements stilled, and he gripped onto the man like his life depended on it, which it maybe sort of did. “We’ll get there soon.” 

The moonlight allowed Abbacchio to get a closer look at the man’s features, something he wasn’t able to focus on before. He had chin length black hair, and was wearing a weird suit with a not-quite-heart-shaped hole in the chest. Before he could get a better look, the man placed him on the ground in front of his house and left quickly with no more than a simple ‘goodbye.’ 

When Abbacchio opened the door to his shared house/shop, Giorno was waiting for him. “Where were you? It’s a ten minute walk and I left after you.”  
“I’m going to bed.” Abbacchio did not want to think about the experience, much less explain it to Giorno. His head hurt from trying to work out what happened, and he was too tired to deal with it today.  
“Better watch out for Sticky Fingers, he’ll pick you up and steal you, just like he did with the other children.”  
Despite his serious tone, Abbacchio could tell the other was joking. “Shut the fuck up.” He shot back, too tired to form a coherent argument.

Giorno had only been asleep for a few hours when he heard the familiar jingle of bells signal the front door had been opened. He groggily pulled himself out of bed, arming himself with a bat to go confront the unwanted visitor. 

He bumped into Abbacchio in the hallway, similarly armed with a kitchen knife. Together they entered the hat shop, turning on a lamp near the doorway. “Hello.” A man sauntered calmly into the light, smiling. Giorno could feel Abbacchio tense up next to him, preparing himself in case of the worst. 

The man took another step towards them. “What a lovely shop. Which one of you makes the hats?”  
“We’re not open.”  
“What a shame, I’d love to buy one. You’d look good in blue, Squalo.”  
His partner stepped out into the light, slinging an arm around him.  
“What the hell do you want?”  
Abbacchio stepped between Giorno and the intruders, weapon raised.  
“That’s a shame. I guess since you can’t be nice then we won’t be either.” With a flick of Squalo’s wrist, everything goes black. 

Abbacchio collapsed, bringing Giorno down with him. From his place on the floor Giorno hears them leave, the jingle of the bells echoing behind them. He waits an extra beat to get up, then hauls Abbacchio to the carpet, and collapses on the couch.

The rough carpet scratches him when he wakes up. Spitting out the brittle hair that’s ended up in his mouth. Abbacchio struggles to sit up. His bones pop and ache uncomfortably. The walk to the bathroom is longer than it needs to be, but eventually he gets there. Abbacchio uses the counter to support himself, stumbles in enough to shut the door, then promptly looks at the mirror and screams as much as his shriveled throat will allow.


	2. The “castle”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They get into the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dumbass just realized Grateful Dead’s ability would have better fit the role, but oh well.

Giorno sat up quickly, throwing himself out of bed to run towards the feeble scream. He knocked on the door of the bathroom, worried, but was only met with silence.  
“Abbacchio?”  
No one answered. He turned the knob to find the door unlocked and the bathroom empty. 

A cold draft blew lightly through his hair as Giorno began to panic, looking around. He took a closer look at the small window, noticing the paint had been ripped off of the windowsill as if someone had wrenched it open without thinking. So Abbacchio had run away. But why? Giorno closed the window, left the shop, and began to look around town. 

Abbacchio shielded his face from the wind with one hand, but the cold seeped through his bony fingers, and his thinning hair was no help, it only whipped around, blocking his sight. He wrapped his cloak around him tighter, shivering. 

He wasn’t completely sure what Tiziano and Squalo had done to make him grow old, but he knew it had something to do with magic. Sorcerers weren’t unheard of, but were usually brushed off as just myths. If he could find one, maybe it would turn him back. 

The hill was steep and rocky, and there were a few times Abbacchio nearly fell off of it, but even so he kept going. The temperature got colder as he made his way up the mountain, and it became harder to breathe. Abbacchio took another step, shoving his foot into a pile of rocks to climb, and found himself falling backwards. The rough ground scraped his forearms as he tumbled down, ready to give up. 

He desperately grabbed onto rocks as his fall sped up, but they were too loose to stay in place, or too slippery to keep hold of. Something hit him hard in the back of the head, and he passed out, going limp.

Giorno had asked around, but no one seemed to know what happened to Abbacchio. He took a moment to rest, trying to appreciate the sunset to calm his nerves. Instead, he saw a factory. Or at least, it looked like a factory. The wad of scrap metal was standing on four stubby little legs that shouldn’t have been able to hold it, hopping from mountain to mountain. It wasn’t much, but having nowhere else to look, Giorno ran after it.

It was dark and raining when he floated back into consciousness, and Abbacchio couldn’t tell how much time had passed. Warily, he looked around before standing up, trying to get a read on his surroundings. He could hear grinding metal in the distance despite the rain, but when he turned he could only see a grassy hill. 

The metallic sound quickly grew closer, joined by creaking. Abbacchio looked around again, pressing himself into the side of the hill to hide. A shadow fell over him, blocking the light of the moon. The sound became almost deafening, blocking out the rain entirely, and his jaw dropped as something seemed to jump over him. 

Abbacchio stared as the thing ran, jogging after it to try and catch up. A small set of stairs hung off of its back, leading up to a door. This had to be the work of a sorcerer, Abbacchio just had to get into the machine. Then, he would be fixed. He ran faster, slowly catching up to the contraption. He reached out, fingers just grazing the edge of the stairs. Then it jumped. 

Abbacchio had run too far to stop himself from passing over the edge of the cliff, and could only shut his eyes and reach up, hoping he wouldn’t fall too far. 

A warm hand wrapped around his wrist, and Abbacchio’s eyes shot open at the contact. A bizarrely dressed teen was dangerously hanging halfway off of the stair platform, his legs wrapped carefully around the handrail. Abbacchio pulled himself forward, grabbing the kid’s arm with both hands and hoisting one leg onto the platform. A gust of wind helped him, and they both went crashing through the door, welcomed inside by the warmth.

The teen led him up another set of stairs, and into a cozy looking room with a large fireplace. The house was crammed with stuff, and the kid had to push more junk onto the floor just so that they could both sit on the couch. 

“Who’s that?” An excited voice yelled. The top half of a body leaned out of the fireplace, pointing at Abbacchio. The guy next to him shrugged, pulling off a hat to reveal short, messy black hair. “I’m Narancia!” The fireplace kid yelled, holding out a hand to shake. 

The door burst open again, making him jump, and a rain soaked figure waved to someone outside before approaching them. Giorno brushed the ruined curls out of his face, standing awkwardly at the top of the stairs.  
“Giorno.”  
“Abbacchio?” Giorno seemed surprised, looking him up and down. 

“It’s a curse.” The other person on the couch finally said. “Squalo and Tiziano, I think.” Abbacchio nodded.  
“Can you break it?”  
“I’m not sure, I’m just an apprentice.”  
“You should ask Bruno.”  
Giorno cursed and jumped back, nearly falling back down the stairs.  
“Sorry.” Narancia mumbled.

A colored wheel above the door switched to black as it opened. Another man walked in, looking tired. He stopped in front of them, confused. “Who are you two?”  
“I’m the new cook.” Giorno piped up, desperately hoping Abbacchio would pick up on the lie. “I’m the cleaning lady.” Abbacchio deadpanned, glaring at Giorno. “Oh,” the man said, “I’m Bruno,” and went up another flight of stairs, disappearing from sight.

“He runs the place.” The apprentice started to explain.  
“Mista!” A muffled yell came from above, and the apprentice rushed up to help. “Bruno might be able to break the curse.” Narancia offered. “Can I have some wood?” Giorno grabbed a log and heaved it into the fireplace. 

Abbacchio looked around and sighed.  
“Where are the cleaning supplies?”


	3. BDSM Juggalo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They move houses, the place gets cleaned up, and they meet Pannacotta (not in that order).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is a ; and how the fuck does it work?

Abbacchio is almost finished cleaning when Bruno comes back down from the second floor. He’d avoided it until now, deciding that the living/dining area was better off being cleaned first. He’s covered in soot from head to toe, cleaning the ash out of the fireplace while Narancia whines about it. As a fire demon, or so he’d been told, Narancia wasn’t able to walk around freely, and had to be moved into a bucket with a shovel for the time being.

“Abbacchiooooo!” He complained, dwindling down, “I need wood!” Giorno, sitting on the newly cleaned couch and waiting for dough to rise, handed him a piece without looking up from his book. “Brat, take the soot outside.” Abbacchio commanded, sweeping it up and pouring it into a bucket. “Can’t. I’m busy.” Giorno deadpanned, making Abbacchio’s lip curl in frustration. The wheel above the door spun, landing on black as three sharp knocks echoed throughout the house. Bruno comes rushing down the stairs, and peeks through the keyhole, motioning for them to be silent. After a few minutes, he warily opens the door. 

A tall man stands in the doorway, vaguely resembling some sort of BDSM juggalo.   
“Bruno.” He states, and is quickly ushered inside before he can say anything else. The small bells on his hat spell out Risotto, which Abbacchio correctly guesses to be his name. They leave to talk in hushed voices upstairs, and though everyone has gone silent, they can only make out a few words here and there. 

“...the boss.” Risotto finishes, walking back down the stairs. “They can stay, but we’ll need to move houses.” Risotto nods at this, and leaves without another word. “Mista needs to open the shop.” Bruno says to no one in particular. “Narancia, get ready to move after.” The fire demon nods, and Bruno leaves, the wheel spinning back to point at yellow after. 

Mista rushes down next, nearly tripping over the ash and soot. But before he can open the door, Abbacchio grabs his collar, choking him.   
“You smell like shit, go take a shower.” Mista knows better than to argue against him, dramatically throwing his head back and slouching forward as he follows the order. 

Eventually the house is (mostly) clean and Mista doesn’t smell like shit. Giorno is baking bread, and it makes everything smell heavenly. Only then does Abbacchio allow him to ‘open up shop,’ grumbling about deodorant and keeping clean. 

The first customer is a young woman. She appears to be a regular, glancing at Abbacchio nervously while Mista hands her a few vials of clear liquid and makes small talk. Only a few customers come in, but they pay handsomely, and after the sixth (seventh, Mista insists, refusing to count number four), the shop is closed. Excited, he switches the wheel to point to green, and throws open the door to reveal a grassy meadow. 

The lake contrasts the grass beautifully, and the calm water reflects the bright blue sky almost perfectly. It’s warm outside, but the breeze is light and cool, swaying the grass gently towards them; making the hills ripple. Giorno has set up a small picnic at the edge of the lake, and the serene atmosphere allows them to sit in comfortable silence. 

Out of the corner of his eye, a strange looking thing is hopping quickly towards them. Giorno stands to meet it, waving. It looks like a scarecrow, and has a turnip for a head. He (it?) is wearing a matching red outfit filled with holes, and a tie. “He helped me get into the moving castle.” Giorno explains. The creature hops onto the picnic blanket and flops down as best a glorified stick can, laying halfway in the grass.  
“I call him Pannacotta.”   
“Bakers.” Abbacchio scoffs, shaking his head fondly.

When they go back inside (Pannacotta can’t fit through the door, unfortunately), Bruno is waiting for them. “It’s time to move. Are you ready, Narancia?” The fire demon protests, but Bruno ignores him to draw a symbol on the floor in chalk instead. “Bruno, it takes too much energy!” Naracia gets scooped up anyway and set in the center of the drawing. Almost immediately, the room begins to spin. Abbacchio watches with horror and fascination as the house begins to transform itself. 

When the spell ends, the house is bigger and different. The fireplace has moved to take up a corner instead of being on a wall, and the kitchen is it’s own room completely, though the dining area is still in the living room. The front door has moved to be level with the floor, and across from it is a hallway leading into many different rooms. 

“You did well, Narancia.” Carefully, Bruno sets him back in the fireplace, giving him plenty of wood to replenish his energy. The new windows allow light to filter in, letting them know it’ll be dark soon. “I apologize about the size before, I didn’t think we would have guests.” Bruno leads them to their new rooms, looking embarrassed about making them sleep on the couches. 

The bed is certainly more comfortable, but Abbacchio still can’t sleep for some reason. He heads into the kitchen for a glass of water, stopping in the hall when he hears voices. It’s just Mista and Narancia, so he continues into the living room. “Stop- mmphhh!” Mista claps his hand over Narancia’s mouth, hushing him. “You’ll wake everyone up,” he whisper-yells, only yanking his hand away when Narancia licks it. “Gross!”   
“Then don’t tickle me!”   
“You’ve already woken everyone up.”

Abbacchio startles them, and they practically jump away from each other. “How…?” He motions at Mista being in the fireplace.  
“Magic.” Mista explains, pointedly avoiding Abbacchio’s gaze. He crosses his arms, leaning against the couch.   
“Go to sleep.” 

“Why is everyone up?”  
All heads turn towards Bruno, who is standing sleepily in the doorway.   
“No reason.” Abbacchio says at the same time Mista whispers “couldn’t sleep.”   
“Mmmhmmm.” Bruno yawns.   
“Well go back to bed.”   
He turns, disappearing back down the hallway. 

Abbacchio gives Narancia and Mista a suspicious glance.  
“Don’t sleep in the fireplace.”  
“Why not?” Narancia demands, challenging him.  
“You’re too loud.”   
He leaves before they can protest, eager to get at least a few hours of sleep in.   
“Wha-” “go back to bed.” He waves off a sleepy Giorno, who gladly follows the instructions. 

Contrary to popular belief, Abbacchio does care enough to check back up on them, making sure Mista falls asleep on the couch so the spell doesn’t wear off and he doesn’t burn to death. Warm feelings flood his chest at the thought of the little ‘family’ they’ve created, but he’s too tired to bother to decipher them. Instead, he drifts off into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be three chapters, but it’s still not finished so I’m going to try and end it at five. No promises, though, it may go on longer.


	4. Bruno throws a fit (it’s the stress)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruno has a breakdown and Risotto brings friends over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the plotline is confusing, I had to change it to fit the characters better.

The morning goes well. Abbacchio wakes up to hear Mista sending off a customer with their order, meaning he has been allowed to sleep in. He walks out in pajamas, no longer caring who sees him in this old, withered form. Customers give him weird looks, but he drinks his coffee in peace for the most part. 

By the time Bruno gets back, Abbacchio is dressed for the day and they’ve closed the shop. He looks like a wreck. His hair is tangled, and the small braid he usually keeps at the top has been undone. His normally white suit is speckled with blood and dirt.   
“Narancia,” he mutters, walking up the stairs, “heat the water.”  
Bruno’s voice is small in the silent house. He refuses to meet the others’ eyes. 

It’s only when he is out of sight and they can hear the water flowing that they start talking again. Abbacchio gives Mista a questioning look, and Giorno speaks for both of them.   
“What happened to him?”  
Mista takes a moment to answer, staying silent for just a little too long.   
“He’s had a long day.”  
Giorno nods.

A shriek pulls them out of the awkward silence. Bruno rushes down the stairs with a towel loosely wrapped around his waist, hair still wet.   
“Abbacchio!” He barks, holding up a ball of fabric. Abbacchio moves to meet him in the middle of the room, taking the fabric from him to inspect. His normally bright white suit has been dyed a light pink. “Wha-”  
“Did you move the stuff in the bathroom? I had a spell to keep it clean!”  
Oh. Abbacchio had cleaned upstairs for the first time yesterday, insisting it was his job. Oops….

Bruno collapses onto a stool in front of the fireplace with his head in his hands. Narancia tries to offer positive words, but they don’t seem to be helping. Abbacchio sets down the suit and walks over. “We can bleach it back, it’s ok.” He puts a hand on Bruno’s back, then jumps and quickly pulls it away when it gets coated in a thick slime. 

Narancia moves back as best he can when the slime starts to seep into the fireplace. “Woah woah, Brunoooo, I’ll drown!” Abbacchio looks to Mista for help, but he’s just as confused. “Get him out of the fireplace and clean up.” Abbacchio orders, wincing while he picks up the melting Bruno and starts to walk to the bathroom. 

Mista holds Naracia as he desperately looks for a place to put him. Giorno is mopping the slime out of the fireplace as best he can, but he doesn’t mop often and he’s panicking. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck!” Mista chants, pacing. The spell will wear off soon, then he’ll get burned. “The pot,” Giorno yells, “put him in a pot!” Mista runs into the kitchen and throws open the cabinets, letting the pots clatter around as he looks for one that’s big enough. 

In the bathroom, Abbacchio has barely managed to contain Bruno in the bathtub. He turns on the water, cold now that Narancia isn’t heating it, struggling to move his old body quickly to plug the drain. The cold shocks Bruno out of whatever state he was in, leaving a very naked man in a pile of slime. Abbacchio let’s himself breathe, then gets to work on getting rid of the slime and cleaning up the crying Bruno.

Narancia holds onto a piece of wood for dear life as he sits in a large pot on the stove. Giorno and Mista are making progress cleaning up. The slime has been somewhat contained in a few buckets, and it’s mostly out of the fireplace. The trail to the bathroom is still present, but neither wants to go beyond the hallway entrance.

“The boss called.” Bruno finally explains. Abbacchio raises an eyebrow. “I work for him, but-” he looks around suspiciously and lowers his voice, forcing Abbacchio to lean on closer to hear- “I can’t go see him, because I need to be here to meet with someone.” He leans back and closes his eyes, resting his head against the edge of the tub. “We’re going to betray him.” 

They’re still cleaning when someone knocks on the door, the wheel spinning to point to black. Mista is hauling Narancia back over to the fireplace, but he pauses to give Giorno a nervous look. Giorno carefully walks over, peeking at the visitors through the keyhole. He can’t see all of them clearly, but he recognizes the one in front as Risotto, the man who had talked with Bruno once before. He ignores Mista’s frantic waving to not open the door, and lets the men in. 

Risotto looks around, taking in the slime covered room with a quiet “oh.”   
There are eight other people with him, filling the room. Giorno pushes the couches away from the goop on the floor, and the guests awkwardly sit down. Risotto shoves one of the people forward, a young man with blue hair and red glasses, who looks like he’s about to explode. Despite his murderous expression, he freezes the slime and breaks it up, helping them clean. 

“They’re here.” Bruno says, standing up suddenly. Abbacchio looks towards the door.   
“What about the meeting with the boss?” Bruno thinks for a minute.  
“You should go meet him, tell him I’m dead.” Abbacchio waits for the punchline, but Bruno is completely serious. Abbacchio nods and leaves to get ready. 

The moving castle is a large space, and there are enough bedrooms to fit eight people if they double up. The living room, however, is not big enough to fit eight people comfortably, even with two couches. When Abbacchio and Bruno walk in, Risotto stands and introductions ensue. Mista won’t be able to remember their names, he’s barely able to keep up with what’s happening. Bruno gives something to Abbacchio, then he’s heading towards the door, and Mista’s being pulled along too. 

“Hey-”   
He stops mid sentence when the cool air hits him, (a crop top, in this weather?) shivering.   
“He won’t believe me if you don’t come along.”   
“Who? Where are we going?”  
Abbacchio walks swiftly as he explains, and Mista has to jog to keep up. The walk to the meeting place is short, but before they can enter the building, they’re blocked. 

“I thought that old age would’ve stopped you.”  
“Don’t you have any shame going out like that?”  
Squalo stands in the way, leaning towards them menacingly. He’s got one hand on his hip, holding Tiziano’s hand loosely with the other. 

Mista has seen Abbacchio annoyed, maybe even a little pissed off. Yelling is a regular occurrence. But he’s never seen the pure show of disgust and anger Abbacchio is practically radiating.  
“You bitch!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a lot of cussing in the next chapter.


	5. Diavolo has lice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of shit happens, there’s more violence in this chapter than usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t go over this chapter like I normally do, so I apologize if there are more mistakes than usual. Feel free to point them out if you like, I’ll fix them.

Mista has to grab Abbacchio’s arm to stop him from lunging at Squalo and Tiziano. He’s practically frothing from the mouth, and even the two sorcerers that cursed him seem surprised at his ferocity. Mista’s not completely sure how strong a guy as old as Abbacchio could be, but he decides against testing him.  
“Let us through.” He demands.  
“We’re going to the same place as you are.” Tiziano explains. 

They all walk side by side, refusing to let the other group in front as they enter the building. The room is huge, and the ceiling appears to be coated with gold. Lavish furniture decorated the room, though it seems to be purely decorative, as it is very uncomfortable to sit on. Abbacchio is still glaring daggers at the duo, and Mista can’t even begin to understand what they could’ve done to piss him off that much.

The creak of a door gets everyone’s attention as a pink haired kid peeks his head out and waves. The kid couldn’t be more than seventeen, but there’s something odd about him that Mista just can’t seem to place.  
“Squalo and Tiziano? The boss wants to see you now.”

He ducks back out with the couple following close behind, leaving Abbaccchio and Mista alone in the quiet room.  
“What did they do?” Mista asks quickly.  
Abbacchio tries to answer, but he can only get out a few words, the rest coming out in incoherent hums as his mouth refuses to open. The door swings open, harder this time, and the kid beckons them into the next room. 

The kid leaves, and another man enters. It’s hard to tell if the spots in his hair are lice or an odd pattern.  
“Where is Buccellati?”  
The boss looks bored and annoyed.  
“Dead.” Abbacchio deadpans, allowing a fake tear to slide down his face.  
“What a shame.”  
The boss is inspecting them carefully, looking for any signs of lying. Mista focuses on his weird, lacy shirt, pretending to be sad. 

Eventually the boss gives up and leans back in his chair.  
“Very well.”  
Abbacchio takes a step towards the door at the assumed dismissal.  
“Where do you think you’re going?”  
Abbacchio raises an eyebrow.  
“You’ve seen me, you can’t just walk free.”  
Mista pales as the realization hits him.  
“Doppio, take care of this.” He yells into a clearly broken cell phone.

The boss saunters out, ignoring the middle finger Abbacchio throws his way. Mista runs towards the door as soon as he leaves, jiggling the handle, and cursing when it ends up being locked.  
Something flies at him, cracking the locked door when Abbacchio pulls him out of the way. 

The kid from before, Doppio, turns towards them, ignoring his bleeding fist with knuckles full of splinters. There’s an undeniable bloodlust in his eyes, tracking their every movement. Abbacchio pulls out a pocket knife and lunges. Doppio turns, the knife just grazing his neck. He grabs Abbacchio by the hand with the knife and throws him into the wall, disarming him.  
“You can’t use magic.”  
He notices, kicking Abbacchio once more before turning to Mista. 

Mista shoves a hand down his pants, confusing Doppio for a moment, then pulls out a gun, firing off two shots. They miss Doppio, but arch back around and hit him anyway. Doppio collapses, coughing up blood. A hand comes through the wall and pulls Mista into the temporary portal along with Abbacchio while he recovers. 

Giorno watches with fascination as Bruno pulls them out of the wall, quickly zipping the opening back up. He’s learned a small amount of healing magic since he’s met Bruno, and it comes in handy when he sees Abbacchio struggling to breathe with a broken rib. 

“He’s going to attack soon. We have the upper hand, something he wants.”  
Risotto nods at Illuso, who takes a small mirror shard from his pocket and reaches into it. Illuso sets it on the floor and a woman steps out, looking around nervously.  
“This is the Boss’s daughter, Trish.”  
Risotto introduces.  
“He wants to kill her to get rid of any family ties. We’re going to lure him in using her.” 

When Abbacchio wakes up, he’s draped over the couch. Risotto has finished explaining the plan, and the room is empty except for Narancia and a man sitting next to him. Prosciutto, if he remembers correctly.  
“It’s a curse, right?”  
Abbacchio nods.  
“It’s a shitty curse.”  
Prosciutto sneers. He mumbles something under his breath, then Abbacchio can feel his skin tightening, pulling at him. 

A quick glance at his hands confirm that he’s his true age again.  
“Woah!”  
Narancia is staring at him in awe. Abbacchio stands up to stretch. It feels good not to ache every time he walks now.  
“Thank you.”  
Prosciutto nods.

But his happiness is short lived when a loud boom shakes the castle, jostling furniture and knocking over whatever isn’t nailed down. The others rush into the room, looking through the windows for an explanation. Bruno stumbles as he begins to sink into the ground. Green spores come out of every crack and crevice, filling the air.  
“Everyone upstairs!” Bruno yells, putting Narancia in a bucket with shaky hands. 

“He must be desperate.” Melone says once they’re safely above ground. Narancia moves the castle so that they no longer have to worry about the mold. The ground beneath them shifts again, pulling them in like liquid. Ghiaccio tried to freeze it, but the layers of ice just shatter as the ground continues to move. Formaggio screams when a hand shoots up and pulls him under, raking his nails against the wall, trying to grab something— anything— to anchor himself with. 

Bruno shoves Naracia into Mista’s arms, grabbing and pulling Formaggio back up with Giorno’s help. The hand resurfaces with Formaggio’s foot, leaving it vulnerable to an attack. Risotto pulls him up further using the iron in his blood. A man in a bodysuit thrashes around, but he’s helpless against Risottos magic. Drool flies around as the feral guy screams, clawing at anyone within reach.  
“Secco.” Risotto states grimly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!   
> This will be more than five chapters, but definitely less than ten.


	6. Mold infestation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cioccolata and Secco’s fight against them ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating has been changed to mature just in case. There’s going to be a good amount of violence, though not too much gore in this chapter, please be warned.

Mista holds his gun against Seccos head, forcing him to stop screaming. “Call Cioccolata,” Risotto demands. Hesitantly, Secco pulls out a phone (where from is a mystery to Mista, he hopes it’s magic) and dials a number. Ringing fills the room until he picks up the call.  
“Cioccolata, fucking kill them.”   
A horrible noise comes out of the phone so loud they can hear it clearly. The man on the other end of the receiver is laughing. He adds something they can’t understand without being close to the phone.

Mista’s eyes widen, but there’s barely time to process because the room collapses in on itself, melting faster than they can move, pulling them in. Secco cackles somewhere behind him, and Mista blindly shoots at the noise, his magic ensuring it won’t hit anyone else. 

Spores fill the air, clogging his nose and making it hard to breathe. His small cuts start to ache, and though he doesn’t look he knows they’re filled with mold, making him rot from the inside out. Something breaks, he can’t tell what, and a shard of it is thrown at him. It digs itself into his cheek, but then a hand reaches out of it and pulls him into another world. 

Everything is still melted in the mirror, but the mold in his leg is gone, and the house has temporarily stopped sinking while Secco tries to figure out where they’ve gone.

Illuso turns to Melone, desperate for help as he struggles to hold up his magic. He’s never had more than two people in the Mirror before, and he’s not sure how much longer he can go.   
“Get the Junior to Cioccolata with a piece of the mirror.”   
Illuso explains the plan between breaths, sweat dripping down his back. The purple aura around him is holding steady for now, but Melone hurries, typing quick instructions into his laptop. 

Buccellati leaves to deal with Secco on his own. Abbacchio worries, but his magic is strong and without Cioccolata, he’s confident Secco is nothing. 

Green hair makes its way into the Mirror, quickly followed by the rest of his body as the Junior gracelessly pushes him in. His mold can’t enter here, no unwelcome living organism can, and the glare on his face falls, replaced by a knowing terror. 

In the end, it’s Mista who finishes the job. A bullet through the head is quick and precise. Less than he deserves, but they don’t have time to draw out his screams. All at once Illuso’s aura disappears, and they all come crashing out of the mirror world, Cioccolata’s body included. 

Buccellati joins them looking just as bad. He’s not badly injured, but the red marks on his face will turn into bruises with time, and Buccelati is glad his suit is already pink, because the only way this much blood would come out of his clothing is with magic so strong it could lift up a city. 

The castle is back to normal now that Secco is dead, limbs unzipped like curled pencil shavings behind them. The castle crouches to let them in, and they collapse on the couches, falling over one another. Narancia is glad to be back in the fireplace after a long day, laughing with Mista. 

The threat of the boss still hangs over them, filling the room with dread, even as they joke around. Buccellati and Mista reinforce the castle with protection spells; a backup to ease their minds even though logically, Diavolo could break through them anytime.

The room clears out one by one as they take turns showering. It’s too tiring to stay up any more, and most go to bed until only Giorno, Mista, Abbacchio, and Narancia remain. 

“It’s a spell, right? On Pannacotta?”  
Mista nods, curious to see where this is going.   
“Could you get rid of it?”   
Mista’s magic isn’t the banishing type, but a spell or potion wouldn’t hurt.  
“I can try,” he offers. 

Forty-five minutes later Pannacotta is laying on the ground of their living room. Mista draws another circle on the ground, similar to the one Buccellati drew when they were moving, and puts a different symbol in it. Abbacchio watches with idle amusement and fascination as the spell starts to work, turning the Scarecrow’s hand back into flesh. The spell stops suddenly, and the hand goes back to being wooden with an audible ‘pop’ and puff of smoke.

A tired looking Buccellati appears in the doorway. Three excuses bounce to the top of Mista’s head, already planning out an explanation, but Buccellati doesn’t tell them to go to bed. Instead, he walks over to Pannacotta, looking over Mista’s failed spell.   
“It’s not powerful enough,” he concludes. 

Mista hands Buccellati the chalk, and steps back as he performs a new spell. He’s tired, exhausted, even, and the spell takes more magic than he had planned. He doesn’t waver as it sucks out his energy, but black spots dance in his eyes, and he’s forced to sit down once it’s complete. Giorno hands him a cup of water, which he takes gratefully, then watches as the spell does its work. 

Pannacotta’s limbs turn first, the magic traveling from the outside in. His body is lifted from the ground slightly in the process, but when he falls back down it's the ‘thump’ of a human body hitting the floor instead of hollow-sounding wood. 

He blinks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and looks around. The kid jumps up, excited to be human once again, and nearly falls on his face. Giorno helps him back up, steadying him as the boy tries to regain hold of walking again. 

“What’s your name? I know it’s not Panna Cotta,” Abbacchio teases.  
“I’m Fugo.”  
“Just Fugo?”  
The kid looks troubled, and Buccellati almost regrets asking the question.  
“Pannacotta Fugo.”  
His voice is rough from the restricted use, but his smile makes up for the mistakened tone. 

When the younger ones have gone to bed, Abbacchio turns to him.   
“What are you gonna do about the kid, Buccellati?”   
He sounds concerned, a rare occurrence.   
“I’m going to keep him. He’s given up one of his names already, he likely doesn’t have anywhere to go.”   
Abbacchio nods thoughtfully, secretly relieved.   
“You can call me Bruno.” Buccellati adds. His voice is like honey, surprising Abbacchio in the best way possible.   
“In that case, you can call me Leone.”  
Bruno pours them each a glass of wine to enjoy the rest of the night with, and for once, Leone finds that talking comes easily.

The bushes rustle outside, something that could just be an animal, but isn’t. A man makes a noise that sounds like ringing and takes a broken cellphone out of his pocket, holding it to his ear. The broken glass cuts it, making drops of blood fall onto his purple sweater.   
“Boss? What should I do?” He asks nervously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t tagged it as Cioccolata/Secco because I’m not exploring that relationship at the moment, but I will tag it as minor character death. Please tell me if you’d like any other warning tags, I’m not great at tagging.
> 
> Thanks for reading!   
> I write hurt/comfort more than romance, so I’m still getting used to finding the correct wording.


	7. Doppio’s fucked up friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fugo finds Doppio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s not Friday, but I’m bad at names. Other name chapter suggestions are welcome if you have any :)

Fugo isn’t used to his body yet. He’s thankful to have it back, but he refrained from using his magic even before he was a scarecrow, and without the use of moving limbs or the ability to talk, he didn’t bother trying.   
It’s not that he wants to use magic and can’t, but really the opposite. He’s never been able to control it, and it scares him. 

The room is dark except for the light glow of Fugo’s magic escaping through his fingers (purple. It’s never been that color before, it’s almost always red). His fists are clenched around the blanket pulled up to his knees, brows furrowed in concentration with only one though in mind:  
Make it stop.   
He tries to take in deep breaths, but his mouth has gone dry and each shaky exhale only makes things worse. Carefully, Fugo steps out of the covers and pads across the room. 

The hallway is dark, but he can see the soft glow of the fire (Narancia?), giving everything a calming aura. The wooden floors creak when he takes another step forward, making him cringe, but he makes it to the kitchen silently past that point. 

The water is refreshing, and less magic escapes now that he’s calmed down, though it’s still slightly concerning. He sighs and picks up the cup to take back to his room, but before he can move something sharp is pressed against his throat. 

Fugo drops the cup, spilling water all over the floor, and puts his hands up in a panic. He’s not completely sure what you’re supposed to do in these situations, but that probably wasn’t it.   
“Who are you!”  
The attacker’s hand is shaking, and the sentence comes out as more of an exclamation than a question, but the edge of the knife digs just a little bit deeper into Fugo’s throat and that works well enough to convince him to answer.   
“Fugo! Pannacotta Fugo!”  
“Panna Cotta? The scarecrow?”   
“Yes!”  
Pesci lets him go and puts back the knife, apologizing weakly.  
“My socks are wet, I’m just-”  
“Yeah.”  
Pesci leaves without another word, awkwardly messing with the hem of his jacket.

The water shouldn’t take long to clean up, but a commotion outside stops him from finishing. Fugo presses his nose against the glass to get a better look at it, but all he can make out are dark silhouettes. His breath fogs up the view, and he glares at nothing. The movement has stopped when he finished wiping it off. 

He’s reaching for the doorknob when someone else walks in (how many people live here? It looked cozy from the outside….).   
“Where are you going?”  
The figure is standing just a little too close, but backs up when Fugo turns.   
“Outside.”   
Once again he has to go through the ‘I-am-not-an-intruder-stop-trying-to-stab-me’ routine, but the knife stays away from his throat this time, making the interaction much more tolerable.

Melone follows him outside, helping him look through the bushes. He doubts the action is sincere, but it calms his nerves.  
“Shit.”  
Fugo mutters, pulling his hands out of the suspicious bush. His pajama bottoms have dirt stains on them, and a few leaves have made their way into his hair when he finally stops searching.

Melone stands by, waiting for him. Fugo reluctantly trudges over, wiping his feet on the mat outside as Melone unlocks the door. A flash of pink in his peripheral vision has him almost falling over from how aggressively he turns around, but his efforts haven’t been wasted as he sees the end of a pink braid disappear behind the side of the castle. 

Doppio runs for his life, nearly tripping over his feet as he struggles to get away. There’s not many places to go, if he runs away from the castle now, he’ll be seen; open for attack. The kid had surprised him by digging through the bushes, but he’s a step ahead. Only one pair of footsteps run after him, meaning if he circles the castle Melone will be waiting for him. With only one option left, Doppio throws himself against the machine, and begins to climb. 

The junk is held in place by magic, and though it looks like it’s about to fall apart it gives him many good footholds. There’s a balcony slightly to his left, if he can just get to there and hide maybe he can wait them out.

Fugo stops dead in his tracks when he sees there isn’t anyone around, cursing loudly. Magic winds around him, thick as smoke and feeding off of the anxiety starting to overwhelm his thoughts. Something scampers up the side of the castle, distracting him from the oncoming wave of negative emotion. 

Melone rounds the corner and approaches him, careful to avoid the magic. He can’t help the giddy smile that blooms on his face when the creature waves to him.  
“He’s somewhere up there.”   
Melone tells Fugo, pointing up at the humanoid scaling the wall.   
“He can smell the intruder.”  
Fugo seems to be slightly disturbed by how happy Melone is, but decided against commenting on it.   
“We should tell the others.” 

Doppio shivers at cold night air as he huddled against the balcony. He knows the Junior is going to attack, but he’s not sure how much longer he can keep himself hidden. He needs the Boss to help him, needs to use magic, but he’s not sure he can. If the Boss were to call him now Doppio would be revealed, but he can’t do this alone. 

The Junior attacks viciously, throwing itself at his face and clawing at whatever it comes in contact with it. Doppio gets into a defensive position and stabs at it, but the Junior’s flesh ripples and parts for the attack, closing around it and effectively disarming him. Weaponless, Doppio jumps back to avoid a hit, the edge of the balcony pressing sharply into his back. It avoids Doppio’s punch, dispersing the same way it did with the knife, this time reforming so that it’s holding Doppio’s fists closed with its own. Doppio can’t get out of the Junior’s grip, and before he can figure something else out the balcony is no longer at his back and he’s falling. It stops him from grabbing onto something, but cushions his fall enough to let him live.

Melone gags him while it holds him still, then a rag is pressed to his nose, a sweet smell assaulting his senses. All Doppio can do is struggle weakly as he falls unconscious, wishing the Boss would tell him what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pesci wears socks to bed :/


	8. End (but not really)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One final fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last plot-related chapter!

Melone heaves the body over his shoulder, grunting at the added weight of the Junior, and hauls the unconscious Doppio back inside. 

Most of them have already woken up because of the noise, but it still takes a little while to get everyone in the same room and aware of the situation. Melone keeps his distance from the unconscious Doppio, knife at the ready in case he tries anything (it’s unlikely since he’s tied to a chair, but Melone’s not convinced he’s powerless despite the situation). Bruno, still in pajamas, stands the closest.   
“You and Fugo found him?”   
Melone nods.   
Risotto’s brow furrows, and he gives Melone a look the shorter can’t quite decipher. 

“We need to kill him.”  
His tone is calm and collected, just as Melone would expect from his superior. Risotto is six feet (and one inch!) of pure muscle. His bulky form towers over the others, and Bruno has to look up to meet his eyes.   
“No. We don’t know where the Boss is now, we have to wait until we can get more information out of him.”  
The surprise is evident when Risotto gives in. A sharp nod and a little ‘fine’ end the conversation. 

Satisfied, Bruno turns to face Doppio, who has just started to stir. His face turns an interesting shade of green, and Bruno barely steps back in time to avoid the oncoming wave of vomit. Leone sighs and gets the mop.

Doppio is still dizzy when everything’s been cleaned up, but he doesn’t look as sick anymore, and that’s good enough for Ghiaccio.   
“Where is the Boss?”  
He yells, caging Doppio in with his arms. Ghiaccio’s so close he can hear the other gulp; the slightest movement would make their noses brush. Doppio stays completely still, eyes wide. He lets out a breath when Ghiaccio stands up again, no longer in his personal space. It was the wrong thing to do, and just manages to piss him off more.  
“Where the hell is the fucking Boss! You know where that piece of shit is hiding!”  
Ghiaccio slams his foot down on the arm of the chair, yanking Doppio’s head up by the hair. His magic has caused ice to start forming along their captive’s jaw, and his sweat has been frozen, making Doppio shiver.

“I don’t know! He doesn’t tell me anything, I’m just an errand boy!”  
“Bullshit! You-”  
“Ghiaccio, that’s enough.”   
He stops mid sentence and walks away from Doppio with a glare, letting the ice melt. He’s clearly annoyed that Bruno’s stopped him, but accepts it quietly enough. 

Pesci makes to stand up, eager to prove himself, but Prosciutto stops him. Instead, Giorno steps up. Leone has to stop himself from smiling. Giorno is small; at first glance he looks weak and dainty. But years of working in a kitchen, of kneading bread and whipping cream have given him more muscle than any fifteen-year-old should have. Leone’s seen what happens to the few that have tried to rob the Bakery or Hat Shop in the past, and he’s certain this scrawny, pink-haired teenager doesn’t have a chance.

Giorno walks up to Doppio with a stoic expression, his face carefully crafted to show no emotion. He tips the chair back, letting it hit the floor with a crash that fills the otherwise silent room. Doppio grunts when his head hits the ground, licking his split lip. Giorno puts a foot on his chest, leaning enough weight on it so that Doppio’s breaths become shallower.   
“Where is the Boss?”  
“I don’t know! I’ve never seen him!”  
Tears and snot roll down Doppio’s face, and his hiccups only press him further into Giorno’s shoe. He has to focus on his breathing so that he doesn’t start hyperventilating.   
“How does he contact you?”  
Giorno doesn’t waver, but Doppio is going to break.  
“He- he calls me or just- just yells.”

Giorno removes his foot.  
“Then call him.”  
“I can’t, he always calls me.”   
Doppio’s voice is weak, maybe even pathetic, but he’s not lying.   
Boss.   
He thinks, screwing his eyes shut.  
Please, help.  
Doppio blacks out.  
But Diavolo wakes up. 

The transformation is terrifying. Doppio’s bones twist and his muscles stretch, protruding from his skin like rats crawling under a bedsheet. Bruno’s never seen such a powerful possession; the sheer power of the change forces everyone to step back, and he has to shield his eyes until it’s over. The ropes holding him down break, and Diavolo stands up, methodically scanning the room. 

Leone doesn’t know what’s happening, but it feels wrong. He can see the clock on the wall (2:36 a.m.) behind him, can see the hands flicker forward (2:38 a.m.) when ‘it’ happens, blood already cooling in small droplets against his face. Giorno finishes a scream he can’t remember starting, clawing at the hand buried in his chest. Rivulets of blood drip down Diavolo‘s arm when he retracts it, letting Giorno fall. He turns towards the next victim, and Leone can feel it this time, can feel the sharp sting of magic as Diavolo silently calls for it. 

When time leaps forward again, there’s only a small cut on Bruno’s chest. Blood stains his suit, but it’s not his.   
“Impossible!”   
Diavolo shouts, jerking his arm out of Leone’s unsteady grip. He sneers at the Boss- the demon- and throws his weight into a punch. They both go sprawling across the floor, and Leone forces himself on top, pinning down Diavolo in a rage-filled chokehold. All he can see is red, his only focus on the demon below him. 

Diavolo suddenly goes slack, temporarily pulling Leone back to reality. He stares, confused, until the eyes below him open. He lets Doppio peek through, just for a second, and Leone hesitates.   
He can feel the magic again, knows it’s coming, but he can’t do anything. He shuts his eyes and waits for the oncoming blow, but it never comes. Instead, he hears screaming. 

Above him, Diavolo lets out an agonizing shriek as dozens of needles force their way out of him. Razor blades and even a few pairs of scissors pierce through the fragile prison of flesh they were created in, only to dive back down and tear him up more. His screams are replaced by blood-filled gurgles, and Leone has to twist away to avoid the iron weapons Diavolo coughs up next to him. His blood turns a sickly shade of yellow, and his breathing slows to a stop as he crumples to the ground. 

An attack that powerful takes a long time to prepare for, and a lot of strength. Risotto nearly falls over from the strain, letting Melone and Prosciutto lead him to the couch. Leone turns to Giorno with worry written all over his face, but the teen has gotten his wound under control with some sort of green magic. Leone watches with fascination as his intestines right themselves, muscles weaving back together right before his eyes.   
“Mista taught me how to use my magic.”  
Giorno rasps.  
“It was supposed to be a surprise.”   
He’s sure the response is supposed to sound bitter, but it comes out in a weird mix of happy and shock instead; Mista’s too relieved to pretend to be mean.

Leone sits himself on the couch between Giorno and Risotto, staining it further with blood. It’s his job to clean it up, but the thought is pushed into the back of his mind as he tries desperately to process what just happened, the screams still echoing around in his head. He shuts his tired eyes for a moment, then stands to help clean the mess. All he really wants to do is hug Giorno, make sure he’s still there and not just a lifeless corpse, but he’s still very hurt, and Leone doubts he could control his hug enough not to crush him. Instead, he lets Fugo have his spot, letting the exaggerated rise and fall of Giorno’s chest comfort him instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diavolo is a demon that was possessing Doppio in case that wasn’t clear.


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just the epilogue, not as long as the other chapters, though.

“Mista!”  
Trish yells for the fourth time, cupping her hands around her mouth for extra volume.  
“Fuck! Hold on, I’m coming!”  
Mista throws himself against the wall of the hallway to avoid crashing into Pesci, skidding to a stop in front of the door. The knocks haven’t stopped yet, it’s clearly urgent, so he pulls it open quickly.  
“Hello!”  
A young woman greets him like she wasn’t just about to break down the door, holding her girlfriend’s hand protectively.  
“We heard there was a good bakery around here.”  
Mista sighs.

Risotto has never baked before, but Giorno insisted that he should help, claiming there was too much for him to do on his own. In reality he just wants to flirt with Fugo, but Risotto won’t call him out on it. The oven timer beeps, and Risotto hurries to put on the oven mitts so the cookies don’t burn. Behind him, Giorno guides Fugo’s hands with his own, helping him frost one of the already cooked batches. 

“You motherfucker!”  
Ghiaccio shouts as his car is pushed off the track by Narancia’s. He laughs at the other’s anger, but is forced to drop the controller as the fireproof spell wears off, letting Mista win the racing game instead. Pesci frowns as he finally completes his third lap around the track with Prosciutto’s help, the ranking highlighting his name in eighth place. Illuso, Formaggio, and Melone watch, waiting (im)patiently for their turn. 

The customers that come in are confused, and some even a little overwhelmed at the chaos, but Bruno stands in the middle of it proudly.  
“Shit.”  
Leone mutters next to him, leaving to clean up the purple frosting bag Risotto just dropped, then stepped on, off of the floor. It’s chaos, and he wouldn’t want anything different. After all, if he couldn’t handle this, then how could he handle being the Boss? He hasn’t completely figured out what responsibilities that title comes with yet, but it’s fine as long as he has his team to help. He’ll get it eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This has been really fun to write. Thanks to all the supportive comments, I know I’m not good at responding, but you all help me keep writing even on bad days and I really appreciate it!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism is appreciated but please don’t be an asshole.


End file.
